


A New Adventure

by nochick_fics



Series: Adventures [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, First Love, Friendship, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:02:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13513485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nochick_fics/pseuds/nochick_fics
Summary: Roy Mustang returns home from the military to face an old love... and ends up finding a new one when least expected. (Sequel to Adventures in Babysitting.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place about eight years after the end of AiB.

While a bus was hardly Roy’s preferred method of transportation, what with its dreadfully slow trek from where he was to where he was going, he decided to make the most of the trip and enjoy the scenery. From sprawling cities to the dinkiest of towns to wide open stretches of fields, each passing mile brought with it something new to appreciate… and kept his mind off the things, and the  _person_ , he was not quite ready to face.  
  
It was hard to believe that four years had gone by since he made the decision to leave everyone and everything he had ever known to enlist in the Army. Except for the pain. Unfortunately for Roy, though not at all surprising, the pain had followed him,  _still_  followed him, everywhere he went. Although the passage of time and self-imposed distance had gone a long way to ease the sting of his sadness, there it was, clinging to him like stench and buried deep within his mind and heart. From those torturous weeks of basic training to his eventual assignment, there wasn’t a day that had gone by during all that time when he was given a reprieve from the memory of Maes’ betrayal. For the sake of his sanity, it would have been much easier to dismiss their relationship as first love gone awry, the way so many first loves tend to do, but Roy had so emphatically, and perhaps foolishly, believed he and Maes would stay together, build a  _life_  together, that the devastation of having it all ripped away left him broken in a way he feared irreparable. Joining the military seemed like the best option at the time, as opposed to sticking around and succumbing to his grief.  
  
Now there he was, at the ripe old age of twenty-four, with his stint in the Army completed and nothing but a blank slate ahead of him. He had no idea what he was going to do now that he was a free man; one of the good things about Army life was that most of his decisions were made for him, right down to what time he woke up and went to bed, and what he would wear for the day. The outer structure of his existence was one less thing he’d had to deal with on top of all the inner turmoil, but now what?  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
The words came out before he could stop them, and he was thankful that no one was sitting beside him anymore lest he be mistaken for a crazy person. The kind but nosy old lady who had kept him company for the better part of a hundred miles departed two stops back, and not a moment too soon for all of her invasive inquiries into Roy’s personal life and pearl-clutching astonishment that such a handsome lad like him didn’t have a girlfriend. He might have told her he was into men had he not thought that saying so would send her right into cardiac arrest. Aside from that, it wouldn’t have felt like the truth. Sure, he was gay but he had only ever been into  _one_  man, and that man had broken his heart. Roy was in no hurry for a repeat performance.  
  
He leaned back and closed his eyes. The bus seat was fully upright and terribly uncomfortable (not to mention horribly patterned), but sleep was the last thing on his mind. He tried to focus on the positive aspects of his return home since there would be more than enough time to tackle the negative later. Jean and Riza were getting married. They had grown increasingly closer since graduation, due in part to their mutual commiseration over Maes and Roy’s breakup as well as a new and somewhat strange fixation with guns. Roy had been shocked to learn that the two of them had officially become an item, and even more shocked a few months ago when Jean divulged his intention to propose via an engagement ring lodged in a handgun clip. For someone who had once barely seemed capable of committing to a hair comb let alone a person and drooled over countless members of the opposite sex, that Jean was prepared to settle down and get hitched was definitely not something Roy had expected anytime soon. He was happy for them, though, and looked forward to seeing them, along with Sheska. According to Jean, the once perpetually drunk, bra-hat wearing wonder had finally kept her word about never drinking again and was now a right and proper librarian of all things. However, Roy was willing to bet that it wouldn’t take much to nudge her off the wagon once they were all together again. Well, all together minus one.  
  
His thoughts shifted from his friends to the other reason he anticipated returning: the Elrics. Trisha Elric had gone well out of her way to make Roy feel like family,  _accepting_  him as opposed to merely tolerating him like Maes’ parents. The monthly care packages he had received for the past four years, filled to the brim with homemade cookies and other sweet things—plus the occasional shiny and/or oddly shaped rock from Al—made him the envy of many fellow soldiers who had often attempted to bribe him for his treats. And always tucked safely at the bottom of each package was a letter from Ed, sealed in an envelope to protect it from any potential damage that might have occurred in transit. The jittery handwriting hadn’t changed all that much over the years, but the words clearly marked the transition from child to young man. This mostly meant more swearing; Ed had once insisted that he would curse all the time when he grew up and boy did he ever keep his word. All of the letters were now banded together in one of Roy’s suitcases for the trip home, along with Al’s damn rocks because Roy didn’t have the heart to get rid of them.  
  
He didn’t have much cause to smile these days, but as always, Ed was the exception, the one beacon in so much darkness, as bright as those mischievous golden eyes he remembered fondly. Whenever he felt down about the direction his life had taken, so far removed from what he had wanted, all he had to do was think about the years of sheer and blissful hell he suffered at the hands of the pint-sized terror named Edward Elric. He still thought it funny how what was supposed to be a temporary babysitting gig had ended up being such a life-altering experience, for both of them. Even after earning enough money for a car (a shitty car but it ran, for the most part) he had opted to remain with the brothers throughout high school and while he attended the local community college part-time. He might have stayed even longer if Maes hadn’t—  
  
The bus came to a sudden, jarring halt, sparing him from finishing the thought. Roy opened his eyes and peered forward over rows of heads. Traffic was slowed down and backed up as far as the eye could see, and vehicles were recklessly switching back and forth between lanes to gain a whopping foot or two of forward motion. Oh well. Unlike the other passengers who had started griping about the delay, he wasn’t in any particular hurry. He had all the time in the world.  
  
He leaned back and closed his eyes again. A vision of flames rose in his mind, and he clung to it greedily. Since he hadn’t been allowed to start fires during his time in the Army, he had become quite adept at thinking about them instead and had learned to draw whatever comfort he could from the mental image. Not nearly as satisfying as the real thing, but it worked in a pinch.  
  
Uncomfortable though the seat was, it wasn’t long before Roy dozed off. He dreamt of despondent green eyes behind square-framed glasses and a revelation spoken in a sorrowful voice that hurt just as much now as it had four years ago, slicing through his heart like the blade of a knife. His head slid to the side and came to rest against the cool window as the bus crept along at a turtle’s pace towards its final destination.  
  
*****  
  
Ed stepped into his bedroom and casually flung his backpack aside. It landed on the floor with a heavy clunk, and would remain there until Sunday night when he finally got around to doing the homework he had been assigned. (He would also go on to trip over it a minimum of three times during the weekend but even that would not get him to move it out of the way.) After kicking off his boots, he walked over to the dresser and grabbed a T-shirt. While he was no longer worried about what other students thought of his automail, he usually stuck with long sleeves to minimize the gawking. It made no sense to him, why the ones who had known him since elementary school still stared after all this time, but he stopped trying to understand it long ago and accepted it as one of the more annoying aspects of high school.  
  
He was just pulling the shirt over his head when Al came knocking to announce that Russell and Fletcher had arrived. “Be down in a minute!” he yelled at the closed door.  
  
After trading his blue jeans for black shorts, he reached behind his head and yanked out the hair tie that had held his hair in a ponytail all day. Blond locks fell down across his shoulders and upper back, and he quickly ran his fingers through it in lieu of brushing it out. The hair tie was tossed on top of the dresser, landing between the unused brush and his highly cherished Omega Supreme. Most of his other toys had been gradually demoted to storage as time went by but a few items still warranted display. Omega Supreme most of all.  
  
Propped up by the legs of the huge Transformer was a photo of the one who had given it to him on his ninth birthday, which was still, to date, his best birthday ever. Ed smiled warmly at the man in the picture. He was gorgeous in his dress greens, despite the absence of emotion on his face. A blue uniform would have suited him better, but Ed had no complaints. Roy could have been wearing a potato sack and still manage to look sexy.  
  
“See you soon,” he whispered as he traced an automail finger over the picture. He didn’t know  _how_  soon, but soon enough.  
  
Because after four of the longest years ever, Roy was finally coming back.  
  
Ed’s chest tightened in excitement. Four fucking years. There wasn’t a day that had gone by during all the time Roy was gone that Ed hadn’t thought about him and missed him dearly. The only thing that dampened his excitement was the fear that Roy would still think of him as the little kid with a crush who made his life a living hell. At sixteen (and just under two months shy of his next birthday) he was so much more than that now, and he desperately wanted Roy to see that.  
  
He went downstairs and found Russell waiting for him. With a bouquet of red roses.  
  
“Shut up, they’re for your mom,” the teen said, noting his friend’s amused expression.  
  
“Damn,” Ed muttered sarcastically. But beneath the mock disappointment was a ton of relief. Things between them seemed to be more or less back to normal after the past few weeks of awkwardness. Ed’s heart might have belonged to Roy but he certainly hadn’t been thinking with his heart the last time Russell spent the night, whereupon he discovered that some things felt a whole lot nicer with a helping hand from a friend.  
  
He took the flowers and headed into the kitchen with Russell on his heels. Al and Fletcher were already digging into the takeout that the Tringham brothers had brought over. It was an after school ritual going on three years now, once the boys had proven to their respective parents that they could be trusted when left to their own devices. Trisha had been understandably more skeptical than Nash as she had seen firsthand the deviousness their firstborn sons got into when they were together, especially where defenseless babysitters were concerned. (There were a slew of them after Roy left; no one had ever survived for longer than a month.) But after those first few tentative evenings—and a lot of phone calls to make sure the house was still in one piece—she begrudgingly admitted that the teens were (mostly) capable of looking after themselves without an overabundance of chaos.  
  
“Pretty flowers,” Al said through a mouthful of lo mein.  
  
Fletcher loaded his plate with orange chicken and fried rice. “There’s more where those came from.”  
  
“Tons more. Our garden has taken over the backyard since the last time you came over.” Russell sat down at the kitchen table next to Al and grabbed a plate. He had to work fast before the younger teens ate everything. “I can bring you some to give to Winry if you want,” he suggested to Al before seizing the carton of orange chicken from his little brother.  
  
“Anything to help him get past first base,” Ed commented cheekily as he grabbed a pitcher from one of the cupboards. There was probably a vase somewhere in the house but damned if he knew where.  
  
“Brother!” a mortified Al exclaimed (through another mouthful of lo mein). “You know, some of us don’t think with our…”  
  
“Woo-woo?”  
  
Russell and Fletcher cackled at that while Al turned various shades of red. Oh, how it embarrassed him to be reminded of some of the more adorable terminology for genitalia he used as a child, which was precisely why Ed brought it up whenever the opportunity arose.  
  
“I hope you’re not talking about me,” Ed continued after filling the pitcher with water. “I don’t think with my dick.”  
  
_Except for that one time._  
  
“That’s because he’s in love,” Russell cooed.  
  
Now it was everyone’s turn to laugh at Ed. He spun around from the sink, a flesh hand grasping the pitcher full of roses and an automail hand held out with middle finger presented for all to see. A dozen or so variations of “kiss my ass” sprung to mind, but given recent events between him and Russell he decided not to extend the invitation, even in jest.  
  
The pitcher was positioned on the counter so that it would be the first thing Trisha saw when she entered the kitchen. Ed joined his brother and friends, griping about the scant amount of food that was left for him (which was, in truth, still enough to feed a small army). The next half hour was spent wolfing down food, drinking copious amounts of soda, and belching loudly. Without a sitter to traumatize, Ed and Russell had taken to making their younger brothers’ lives miserable and tonight was no exception. Al and Fletcher escaped into the living room before too much damage was done, leaving Ed and Russell alone with the dishes.  
  
“Damn it,” Ed grumbled, looking at the sea of empty containers and glasses and plates spread out on the table. “I guess we brought this on ourselves.”  
  
Russell stared at the mess as if it had offended him. “We always do. Worth it.”  
  
“Hell yeah.”  
  
They worked together clearing the table. Takeout containers were crammed into the trash and everything else was crammed into the sink. Ed washed and rinsed the dishes while Russell dried them and put them away. It was a fitting arrangement, mostly because Russell was tall enough to reach the top cupboard shelves without issue. Years earlier, when puberty came calling, Ed had naturally anticipated that he would do some catching up. But for every meager inch he had grown taller, it seemed as if Russell grew two. Al had also eventually surpassed him and now Fletcher was closing in fast. He was still the oldest of the bunch. At least that counted for something.  
  
“Do you want to come over tomorrow?” Russell asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “It’s been a while since you played in my garden.”  
  
Ed glanced up at the teen, heeding the wicked gleam in the blue eye not covered by a lock of blond hair. Understanding the euphemism for the joke that it was, he elbowed him in the side. “Pervert. And I can’t.”  
  
“How come?”  
  
“Because I want to be here when… I mean if…” Ed paused as he absentmindedly scrubbed a plate, his face growing warm. “I don’t know if he’s going to stop by or not, but just in case he does…”  
  
Russell took the plate, rinsed it, and dried it off. “Why wouldn’t he?”  
  
It would have been the perfect chance for Russell to poke fun at Ed’s rare bout of embarrassment, but he didn’t. Not about this. For that reason, among many others, Ed couldn’t have asked for a better friend. “Because he’s got a lot of shit going on. His friend is getting married and his ex…” He glowered briefly at the mention of Maes. Ed didn’t know if Roy had or would ever forgive him for what he did, but Ed never would. “Anyway, it’s not like I expect him to drop everything to come see me.  _Us._  Mom and Al and me.”  
  
“But you’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t.”  
  
Ed saw no reason to lie. Russell would know if he did. “Yeah, a little.”  
  
“You should tell him how you feel about him.”  
  
“No fucking way.”  
  
“Why not? It’s easy.” Russell cleared his throat and proceeded to demonstrate in a disturbing falsetto. “Oh Roy, I love you so much. I can’t stop thinking about you. I jerk off every night to your picture. I want to marry you and have your babies.”  
  
_This_  was the Russell that Ed knew best. “Asshole,” he proclaimed through his laughter.  
  
He splashed him in the face with soapy dishwater. Russell retaliated by going over to the refrigerator, retrieving a gallon jug of milk, and threatening to douse Ed with it. Ed recoiled in horror and the chase was on, round and round the table. At some point during the ruckus, Al and Fletcher came back into the kitchen and watched their older siblings in all their idiotic glory.  
  
“And they’re supposed to be the mature ones,” Fletcher pointed out.  
  
Al grinned as Russell wrapped a screaming and cursing Ed in a headlock and held the now open jug of milk over his head. “Yeah, right.”  
  
*****  
  
When given the option for a rental car, Roy hadn’t been able to resist choosing a Mustang. It was a rich navy blue, so dark that it might have passed for black in the right light (or lack thereof) and the engine didn’t rev so much as growl when he pressed the gas pedal. It was the kind of car he once dreamed of having back when he was a teen… or was he only remembering the times when Maes told him he should get one because he was lucky enough to share a name with such a kick-ass car? Roy frowned at that, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter as he drove to Jean’s house. It didn’t matter; whether the desire had been his own or the result of Maes’ suggestion, there was no way in hell that he could have afforded anything other than a Hot Wheels version on a babysitter’s salary.  
  
The frown persisted as he made his way through town. It seemed as if every street held some sort of reminder of the past, and memories he had managed to tuck away in the depths of his subconscious came rising to the surface, agonizing and bittersweet. There was the all-night convenience store the couple had visited on numerous occasions when the gang had devoured everything in the house; the traffic light where Maes had allowed testosterone to get the better of him and raced another car for three heart-stopping blocks while Roy could only grip the armrest, squeeze his eyes shut, and wait for it all to end, either by crash or by cop; the stretch of road they traveled one night on the way to somewhere, during which Maes had kept one hand firmly planted between Roy’s legs for the entire time; the swanky hotel where their senior prom was held and, half a mile away, the seedy motel they stayed in afterwards where they made love all night and into the morning after hours of pent-up frustration over pretending to be just friends.  
  
And there, two blocks down and three to the left, the Army Recruitment Center where Roy had gone a week after Maes told him the truth. A week because that was how long it had taken him to gather the will to move farther than Riza’s couch. The worst week of his life, still to this day. Perhaps always.  
  
Roy cranked up the volume on the radio, hoping the noise would drive out his thoughts. He knew it would be bad, but he had barely been back for ten minutes and he was already itching to flee once more.  
  
A few miles later, he arrived at Jean’s house. Roy parked and grabbed a bag containing toiletries and a change of clothes, and Jean met him at the door with a cigarette lodged between smiling lips, the ember glowing bright orange in the dusk. All of Roy’s bad feelings vanished at once at the sight of one of his dearest friends.  
  
“What the hell is that?” he asked, motioning at the other man’s goatee. “It looks like you’ve got road kill on your chin.”  
  
Jean’s smile widened. “That’s how we’re starting off, huh? I’m surprised you don’t have some lame ass pimpstache or something.”  
  
“Facial hair was never my thing,” Roy said.  
  
“That’s because you couldn’t grow it for shit,” Jean responded.  
  
By the time their back and forth concluded, Roy was at the door. Jean swept him into a fierce bear hug, squeezing him tightly amid a wall of smoke.  
  
“Come on in before the neighbors start spreading rumors about us.” Jean took his bag and led him inside. It wasn’t a huge place, but it was cozy and eclectic—much like its owner. “You hungry?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
Jean smiled knowingly as he set the bag down on the living room sofa. “Thirsty?”  
  
“Very.”  
  
“I thought so. Follow me.”  
  
They went through the living room and outside. When Roy saw the flames rising from a portable fire pit in the center of the small patio, he was overcome with a sense of peace that he hadn’t felt in ages. All of the mental imagery in the world paled in comparison to this.  
  
“Have a seat,” Jean instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”  
  
Roy sat down in one of the two chairs situated just out of the fire’s reach. He stared at it longingly, watching the flames arc and sway and dance. Jean returned a minute later with a bottle of Chivas Regal and two glasses. He sat down in the other chair and opened the pricey Scotch.  
  
“ _Now_  it’s a party,” he said as he poured them each a generous amount.  
  
They clinked glasses and drank. The warmth that bloomed in Roy’s gut went well with the warmth of the fire. He sat back, glass cradled in hand, and regarded the blaze while the sky grew dark around them.  
  
“It’s so quiet here,” Roy observed. “I like it.”  
  
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Jean warned him. “Riza and Sheska will be here tomorrow. I had to practically beg them to stay away tonight to give you a chance to unwind.”  
  
Roy smirked. That sounded about right. “Thanks.”  
  
“No problem.”  
  
Jean topped off their drinks. He extinguished one cigarette and lit another. They watched the fire and drank some more and listened to the burgeoning sounds of night. It took another fifteen minutes for Jean to ask about Maes; Roy was surprised he had managed to hold out for that long.  
  
“Do you want to talk about him?”  
  
“No.” Roy slowly shook his head. “… How is he?”  
  
Jean dragged hard on his cigarette, exhaled sharply, and sipped his Scotch. Then he answered, “He’s okay. What with… all of that.”  
  
Maybe it was the fire or the booze. Maybe both. Whatever the reason, Roy didn’t shy away from what came next, finally acknowledging the nail that had sealed the coffin of his romantic relationship with Maes forever:  
  
“How is his daughter? What’s her name again? Elsie?”  
  
“Elysia,” Jean corrected gently.  
  
“Elysia.” Roy gazed into the flames, seeking strength. “How old is she now? Three? Four?”  
  
“Three and a half.”  
  
Ah yes, that was right. Gracia was already two months along when Maes broke down and told him everything. Roy might have forgiven the cheating, or at least he might have tried. But two words had ruined any chance of that ever happening—  
  
_(she’s pregnant)_  
  
—because there was going to be a permanent, living, breathing reminder of his infidelity. And now she was three and a half years old.  
  
“Roy?”  
  
“Still here.” Roy took a long, deep breath, and an even deeper drink. “Well, I hope he’s a better father than he was a boyfriend. But enough about that. How’s the wedding stuff going?”  
  
“Hell if I know,” Jean replied, obviously relieved to be back on less painful ground. “This is Riza’s thing. I’d be just as happy running off to Vegas and getting married at one of those chapel drive-thrus.”  
  
“She’d kill you.”  
  
“Twice if she could.” Chuckling, Jean crushed his second cigarette and reached for a third. “Speaking of wedding stuff… will you be my best man?”  
  
Roy gaped at his friend. “Me?”  
  
“Yeah you, dumbass. You were always my first choice. I just wanted to wait until you were here to ask because I figured it would be harder for you to say no to my face.” Jean’s smile faded. “I understand if you don’t want to because of… everything… but it would mean the fucking world to me if you said yes.”  
  
“What would I have to do?” Roy wanted to know.  
  
“Stand beside me and look hot. Don’t lose the rings. Give a toast at the reception. Dance with Sheska.”  
  
“No bachelor party or trip to the strip club?”  
  
Jean snorted. “Are you trying to get me in trouble with my woman?”  
  
“What if it was a gay strip club?”  
  
“Then she and Sheska would demand to come with us.”  
  
“Yeah, they would,” Roy agreed. “Of course I’ll be your best man, Havoc. It would be an honor.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
Jean smiled sweetly, cigarette and all. “I’m really glad you’re back, Roy.”  
  
There was a sudden stinging in Roy’s eyes, but it was a good sting, a happy sting. He had no illusions about the difficulties yet to come; at some point in the near future, he would have to confront his former best friend and lover, and it was going to hurt. Badly. But for now, for this one moment, he was happier than he had been in a very long time.  
  
“Me too.”


	2. Chapter 2

At first, Roy couldn’t pinpoint the strange sensation he felt upon waking up. It wasn’t disorientation for he knew exactly where he was—Jean’s house, more specifically his living room couch. It was something else, something he hadn’t felt in forever. After a full minute of blinking at the ceiling, he realized what it was: he felt truly and fully rested.  
  
It had nothing to do with getting eight hours of sleep; after staying up until damn near dawn talking and drinking with Jean, he hadn’t come anywhere close to that. Roy attributed the sensation to a complete lack of expectation and purpose that felt all the more substantial now that he was away from base and back home. He could do whatever the hell he wanted… once he figured out whatever the hell he wanted to do. There were no higher-ups yelling orders at him, no obligations, no deadlines, nothing at all except for a surprisingly comfortable couch (he was practically drowning in the cushions), the smell of bacon and cigarette smoke wafting from the kitchen, and the lovingly hushed tones of Jean as he spoke to Riza on the phone. Little things that were ever so appreciated in the grand scheme of what his life had become.  
  
He sat up with a groan and rubbed his face. Sporadic patches of black stubble tickled his palm as it passed over his cheek and chin, causing him to smile wryly. Jean was right; he really couldn’t grow the stuff to save his life. He swung his legs over the couch and squinted into the faint light of the room. After taking a moment to work up the desire to do more, he got up and went into the bathroom. When he was finished in there, he trudged into the kitchen where Jean was hovering over the stove, phone in one hand, spatula in the other, and, as always, a cigarette dangling from his lips.  
  
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not have my eggs flavored with ashes,” he remarked as he watched his friend multitask.  
  
Jean glanced over his shoulder, smirked, and flipped him off. He jerked his head in the direction of the coffee pot and turned back to the stove. Roy went over to the counter and grabbed the cup that was set out for him. (The handle was shaped like a handgun because of course it was.) It was hard not to overhear the rest of Jean’s conversation since he was standing four feet away, and he smiled and poured as Jean wrapped up the call:  
  
“Yes, dear… I will, dear… I know, dear… I can’t call my soon-to-be wife dear? … Sorry, dear… Okay, it is  _way_  too early for that kind of language… See you soon… Love you, too… Bye.”  
  
“Good morning, dear,” Roy said, grinning from ear to ear.  
  
“Very funny.”  
  
Jean set the phone aside and started plating scrambled eggs and bacon. Right on cue, two slices of toast popped up from the toaster and he grabbed those as well. With everything situated, they sat down at the kitchen table.  
  
“Riza sends her love,” Jean said after remembering that he needed to put out his cigarette for the whole eating thing to be effective. “She sends it by way of swearing, but there’s love there too.”  
  
Roy smiled around a strip of bacon. “What time are she and Sheska getting here?”  
  
“In a few hours. After they finish with wedding things.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be helping them with wedding things?”  
  
“Hey man, I tried.” Jean slathered his toast with butter before continuing. “Unfortunately milady wasn’t too keen on my suggestion that the flower girl scatter bullets down the aisle instead of rose petals.”  
  
Upon hearing that, Roy nearly choked on his coffee. “I can see why you’ve been banned. Bullets? Seriously?”  
  
“I thought it would be cute.”  
  
“I don’t think you fully understand the definition of cute.”  
  
“That’s exactly what Maes—” Jean cringed. “Shit.  _Shit._ I’m sorry, Roy. I didn’t mean to just…”  
  
“… mention the father of the flower girl?” Roy concluded, both to spare his friend the pain of verbalizing his horror and to say the words for himself, the first of many, many instances in which he would need to confront the harsh reality of his situation.  
  
It actually  _hadn’t_  occurred to him until Jean’s slip-up that Elysia was the flower girl in question. He wasn’t too surprised, however; it wasn’t as if Jean or Riza knew an overabundance of little girls as far as he knew. Nor had he ever expected the couple to terminate their friendship with Maes altogether because of what happened. After the drama that unfolded when Maes and Riza slept together all those years ago, Roy learned firsthand the intricacies of maintaining relationships with two people dear to him who, for a time, couldn’t stand being around each other. Taking sides was never an option. What kind of man would he be if he got upset with his friends for doing the same?  
  
He set his fork down, having lost a fair chunk of his appetite. “Don’t tiptoe around it, Jean,” he began, his voice and expression solemn. “Not on my account. This is  _your_  wedding. It’s not about me or him or anything except you and Riza. I’ll be fine.”  
  
Jean lit a cigarette. His appetite had also taken a breather. “Really?” he asked worriedly.  
  
“Really,” Roy insisted.  
  
 _I hope,_  he thought.  
  
“You would tell me if you weren’t fine?”  
  
 _Probably not._  “Absolutely.”  
  
Jean cocked his head and exhaled a stream of smoke. “You’re a shitty liar.”  
  
“Yeah, but I try.”  
  
Smiling, Roy picked up his fork and resumed eating because it was a shame to let bacon go to waste. They spent the next ten minutes talking about times past, specifically the joys and terrors of their teenage years. Roy appreciated Jean’s attempts at omitting Maes from his recollections, but seeing as how a good chunk of those years were spent partying at his parents’ house, it was hard not to include him.  
  
“I always thought that Sheska and Breda would make a good couple when she wasn’t throwing up all over him,” Roy said between sips of coffee. He thought back fondly to the big guy’s casual acceptance of his relationship with Maes. “He was all right.”  
  
With a renewed appreciation for his bacon (after Roy tried and failed to take it), Jean replied, “He still is. But I think she’s way more into books than guys.”  
  
“Can’t say that I blame her.”  
  
“Maybe they’re not so different, books and guys,” Jean theorized as he stroked his goatee. “Sometimes you have to try a few before you find a really good one.”  
  
Roy chortled at Jean’s words of wisdom. It was still hard for him to believe that this was the same guy whose primary ambitions in life had once been trying to sleep with any girl who would have him, drinking copious amounts of alcohol, and, for a time, fawning over Ed’s mom. “Maybe. I’m just not interested in doing too much ‘reading’ anymore.”  
  
“Four years in the Army and no one ever caught your eye?”  
  
“Surrounded by hot guys in uniform every single day? I’m not  _blind_ , Jean. But…” Roy let out a long sigh. “I can’t go through that again.”  
  
“All guys don’t cheat, Roy.”  
  
“I know, but it’s not just that,” Roy said.  
  
He wanted to elaborate, to explain the hesitation and reluctance he felt over the mere prospect of opening himself up to someone else again. Maes’ unfaithfulness (and subsequent accidental fatherhood) was only a part of the whole tragedy. The worst part, granted. But for someone who hadn’t been too close to many people to begin with, it was the loss of the  _friendship_  that was like so much salt in a gaping wound. Given his upbringing, Roy had hardly been one to let people in, and being betrayed by one of those special few, the most special of them all, hurt like fucking hell. Countless were the times over the years when Roy had seen or heard a thing, and the first thought that came to mind was how Maes would have reacted to said thing. He mourned the loss of his boyfriend. But he mourned the loss of his  _best friend_  just as much, if not a little bit more.  
  
“Anyway…” Roy set the coffee cup down, signaling the end of breakfast and that particular topic. “I don’t want to spend my last few hours of peace and quiet talking about him.”  
  
They cleared the table and went into the living room. Roy barely had time to move the neatly folded bedding before Jean sat down on it, and he playfully admonished his friend for nearly leaving his “ass stank” all over the blanket he had to use again.  
  
“Hey, my ass is clean enough to eat off,” Jean proudly stated.  
  
“I’ll leave that to Riza,” Roy replied, earning him a punch on the arm.  
  
“Well, if you really want to know—”  
  
“I really don’t.”  
  
Jean laughed and stood up. “Be right back.”  
  
Roy grabbed the TV remote and flipped through the channels while Jean disappeared into his bedroom. He was still surfing when the other man returned a minute later with a clear plastic storage box that was unceremoniously dropped onto his lap. “Hey, watch the junk.”  
  
“I’d rather not. I’m sure it’s lovely junk, though.”  
  
Roy beaned him with the remote and shook his head. For as much as his existence had been altered by events of the past, he was pleased to know that his and Jean’s ability to be smartasses to each other hadn’t changed at all. And he hoped it never would.  
  
He popped off the box lid and stared thoughtfully at the contents within as Jean’s attention was captured by a program in which contestants were risking life and limb to run through convoluted obstacle courses. There was his glove, a crude creation meant to start fires with a snap of the fingers. He might have contemplated it longer if not for the memories it brought forth, like the time Maes tried to use it and almost set himself on fire, which was funnier than it probably should have been at the time. He pushed it out of the way and found a collection of embarrassing signs that Ed had stuck on his back during his babysitting days, from accusations of booger eating to butt picking and anything else the brat had thought of to vex Roy. (Equally vexing to him was the fact that he had fallen for the damned trick  _every single time_.) Next was the Optimus Prime that Ed had graciously allowed Roy to borrow the very same night that he sneakily taped the booger sign on his back. No matter how many times Roy had attempted to give it back, Ed refused to take it and demanded that he try again later. He wondered if four years was finally later enough.  
  
And underneath all of that was the single blue tulip that Ed had salvaged after the garden he and Russell worked so hard on was destroyed by twin terrors, immortalized via lamination thanks to Sheska’s ingenuity. He remembered with perfect clarity the awfulness of that day, and even now his heart ached fiercely for the little boy who had clutched that flower in a tiny fist with so much sadness and determination while all hell broke loose around him.  
  
Roy ran a single digit along the stem, reflecting. That was also the same day he and Maes had gotten into their first real fight, and yet… oddly enough the thought didn’t sting all that much right now. Maybe it was because he was too preoccupied thinking about Ed, who was the reason they had fought in the first place. Maes had often joked that the boy was more important to Roy than anyone else. Or at least Roy  _thought_  he was joking. But what of it? All of the times that Maes had expressed (or feigned) jealousy over Ed amounted to precisely shit after what he did.  
  
Although he had intended to surprise the teen tomorrow with a carefully planned “impromptu” visit, Roy felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to talk to him sooner than that.  
  
Much sooner.  
  
“Hey, Havoc. I need to use your phone.”  
  
*****  
  
Ed knew that he should have been doing something more productive than sitting on his ass at his desk and impatiently drumming an unknown beat with automail fingers. There was homework that still needed to be done, but even tripping over his stupid backpack wasn’t enough of an inspiration to get started on it. He could have done something nice for his mother to surprise her when she returned from spending the day with Russell’s dad. Maybe he would start a load of laundry. Later.  
  
Al was presently getting dolled up to visit Winry and had invited him to tag along. Ed declined the invitation in typical Ed fashion: with more profanity than some people used in their entire lives. He was genuinely happy for his little brother, but the last thing he wanted to do was twiddle his thumbs while the boy made goo-goo eyes at Winry. (There was also the small matter of having been bonked on the head with a wrench the last time he accompanied Al because he hadn’t been able to resist poking fun at the couple.) No, better to sit there and wait. Not that he was waiting, because he most certainly wasn’t.  
  
He glanced at the picture of the man he most certainly wasn’t waiting for. Although it had arrived tucked inside a Christmas card addressed to the Elric family, Trisha and Al had remained suspiciously quiet when it disappeared from the living room and ended up on Ed’s dresser. Roy’s handsome face betrayed no emotion, but even that was light years better than the last time Ed saw him in person, the day Roy had come over to say goodbye. He had never felt so helpless, seeing the one he loved hurting so much. It had taken all of his twelve-year-old willpower not to break down because the last thing Roy needed was to see Ed cry when he was dealing with the break-up with Maes. Stupid fucking Maes with his stupid fucking cowlick who hadn’t been able to keep it in his stupid fucking pants. If Ed ever saw him again, he thought he might very well punch him in his stupid fucking mouth.  
  
Opening his desk drawer, Ed’s golden eyes scanned the contents. Junk, junk, more junk, a couple of rocks from Al (who thankfully grew out of that habit when puberty kicked in), and Roy’s letters. There weren’t many, but Ed had saved them all; he hadn’t even been able to bear parting with the envelopes that originally contained them. He decided to read them for the millionth time, even though he knew each one by heart. Just to pass the time and help make all the waiting he most certainly wasn’t doing go by faster. But before he could reach in and grab them, Al came barging into his room, because apparently that’s what little brothers who were about to get cursed out did whenever they felt like it.  
  
“Phone’s for you,” Al announced, breathless from sprinting up the stairs.  
  
Ed had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even heard the telephone ring. “Who is it?”  
  
Could it be?  
  
“Russell,” Al told him.  
  
It wasn’t.  
  
“Oh.” Ed didn’t bother trying to hide his disappointment. “Okay.”  
  
He took his time going down the stairs. Al followed, smelling of the cologne that Hohenheim helped him pick out during one of their male bonding outings. Ed wanted to hate the scent on principle but the bastard actually had pretty good taste. Not that it made up for being the world’s shittiest father. (At least in Ed’s opinion, whereas Al didn’t seem to have any complaints because he was too sweet for his own good.)  
  
“What the hell do you want?” he barked into the phone—his standard greeting for Russell.  
  
Ed’s heart faltered when he heard a snort and a chuckle on the other end of the line, still familiar even after not having heard it for four years. He looked with wide, fearful,  _hopeful_  eyes to Al, whose smile was simultaneously wicked and adorable.  
  
“Did I say Russell? I meant Roy. They both start with R so I guess I got mixed up.”  
  
Al bolted from the room, his evil cackling eerily reminiscent of a boy from long ago whose sole purpose for being was traumatizing poor, defenseless babysitters.  
  
Ed was entirely too stunned to be pissed. His heart was beating a mile a minute and his legs had turned to jelly. The phone was still to his ear, and although it took a moment, he finally managed to utter a weak and shaky, “Hello?”  
  
“Hi, Ed.” Roy’s amusement was obvious judging by the sound of his voice. “How have you been?”


End file.
